


Fresh Beginnings

by Ryua



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryua/pseuds/Ryua
Summary: Not all new starts are wanted. It's all well and good for people to tell you that you can do anything you want with your life... but it really sucks when you were already doing what you wanted with your life.Rating is for upsetting scenarios and some unpleasant words said in some unpleasant situations. This may or may not perk up later on.





	1. Chapter 1

Yuri felt a wide grin creep over his face as the text came through. Mila had come down with a cold she didn't want to aggrevate or spread, so he'd have the rink to himself. He didn't mind Baba, she was fun to tease... and though he'd never admit it to her face, he did like her. But there was something freeing about having the rink to practice alone.  
With the championships coming up in a week, they'd both been on the ice almost constantly. He wasn't surprised she would rather take a day off than skate, though. Better to fall behind a day in practice than risk pushing the cold into something with a fever that would drain all her energy.

  
They had both moved temporarily to St. Petersburg so they could practice in the actual rink they'd been competing in, and he'd been here for a week. It was busier than he liked, but being a gold medalist in the last Games came with the perks of being able to demand an hour of ice to himself. He shared it with Mila, because... well, mostly because of how pleased his grandfather had been when he'd mentioned it, actually.

  
So while there had been people in and out all day, and there were still a few people in the stands, doing repair or electrical setup or cleaning or something else Yuri really didn't care about, he was the only one allowed on the ice for the whole next hour. He tugged on his laces, wiggling his feet to make sure the skates were tight enough on his shins, and stood up, grumbling to himself as his earphones tangled.

  
Yanking them out of his ears to untwist the cord, he heard an odd hiss, like air was leaking from somewhere. Sounded like it was coming from the bank of lockers to the right... probably someone's frozen waterbottle defrosting or something. Shoving his earphones back in, he headed out to the ice.

  
The next thing he was aware of was an awful, strangled sort of yowl, like someone stepping on a cat. He realized he was facefirst on the ground, pressed awkwardly up against the boards. And then he realized HE was the one making that sound, and then the pain washed through him, and he stopped being aware of anything.

  
-

  
It was all over the news. Radical anti-Russian terrorists had bombed the St Petersburg ice rink where gold medalist Yuri Piletsky had been practicing. Surely it was a plot to keep Russia away from the gold again. Other official sources speculated that it was an act of Ukranian spies, determined to strike fear and pain into the hearts of Russian citizens.

  
Quieter stories went around, about how maybe it wasn't as politically charged as all of that. Word spread that someone on the forensics team had been heard saying the IED had been very amateurish, constructed of commonly available materials and put together inexpertly. The timing system probably hadn't even worked properly; it was likely supposed to have gone off during the actual Championships and was just placed early when security wasn't tight.

  
Even quieter whispers said that it HAD been personal, that someone high up in their own Government had made the decision that the prestige of having Piletsky as one of their athletes wasn't enough to balance out the unnatural femininity of the boy. After all, Victor Nikiforov had left the country of his own free will, since he knew Russia would not tolerate his relationship with Japan's Yuuri Katsuki.

  
The Russian Championships were moved to Beijing, who had courteously offered use of their world-class centre after the news. They were a subdued affair, with good, if not outstanding, performances, and of course, no Yuri Piletsky.

  
-

  
It seemed to take forever to wake up. Yuri could hear things, voices he didn't recognize, voices he did. His grandfather was around often, his coaches too. He even heard his mother once, he thought.

  
Eventually he started to notice other things. Periods where he could see light through his eyelids, periods where it was dark. The voices became more distinct, and he could understand enough to realize he was in a hospital. He couldn't feel any pain, and that worried him somehow, and right about the time he realized that, the itching started in. Terrible itching, under his skin, but he couldn't seem to DO anything about it, no matter how hard he tried to speak or move.

  
Some of the lethargy finally faded one night, and he started to scratch. It was glorious, and terrible, because the itch never went away, no matter how satisfying the scratch. The first person to walk in was very excited, although it was hard to understand everything she said. He tried to protest when she grabbed his hands, forcing them away from his skin, but his voice didn't seem to work past a faint moan.

  
There was a flury of activity, and someone bundled up his hands in something soft, someone else smeared something pleasant and cool on his skin, but it didn't... really seem to stop the itch. That finally started to ebb sometime around the sun coming up, the itch draining out of him a bit at a time while the pain he'd been expecting started to blossom.

  
It was all across his right side. It started as a faint ache on the back of his shoulder and spread, radiating down his arm, up the side of his head, down onto his thigh. It was like petals unfolding, getting bigger, and brighter with every minute, except the brightness was pain, and holy SHIT now he was awake.

  
"Yuri." It was his grandfather, and he drew a shuddering sigh of relief. "You are finally awake."

  
"I... I hurt," he said, his voice rough through lips that felt dry and cracked. "What..."

  
"You're in a hospital. There was... an explosion. You were caught in it. They've been keeping you in a medical coma while you healed... it was not a process anyone would want to be awake for."

  
There was something at his lips, a straw. He sucked greedily at it, and the cool water was the best thing he ever tasted. A gentle finger dabbed something soothing on his lips too, and now it hurt less to talk. He even tried opening his eyes, and decided immediately that it was too bright and he'd have to ease into that. "How big of an explosion?"  
"Not large," he said. "The police said it was not very professional, and the damage was mostly confined to the change rooms. Had you been a little slower... But you were the only person on the ice that day, and the only person to be badly hurt."

  
So at least that was one worry gone. As much as he wouldn't admit it out loud, Yuri hardly wanted to see anyone else hurt. And as much as he wanted to ask more, the pain was making it hard to focus. "I... why do I hurt so much now? It wasn't this bad before..."

  
He snuck a peek over at his grandfather, who looked more lined with worry now, but still as solid as ever. "When they brought you out of the coma, they started you on morphine. It turns out you have an allergy to it, and they did not want to risk another drug while it was still in your system."

  
"Well, I'm pretty sure it's out now," he groaned, and he almost wept to see a nurse enter the room, a vial of something in her hand.

  
"Mr. Piletsky, it's good to see you awake. I have something else for the pain, if you'd like-"

  
"Yes!" he didn't quite sob. She inserted the needle just below an IV bag, which he just now realized was attached to his arm, which looked pretty normal, except for a few raw looking scratches. The relief was gradual, like the petals were folding back in again, and he drew a shuddering sigh of relief.

  
"You're progressing quite well, despite what I'm sure it feels to you," she said in a soothing voice. "Because of your excellent health, you've healed much faster than usual for someone in your situation. Just rest now, the worst is over."

  
He didn't want to rest, he suspected he'd been resting for a very long time, but... he realized the pain had been the only thing keeping him awake. "Grandpa?" he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed against his will, and he smiled slightly to feel the familiar hand take his.

  
-

  
When he woke up, Yakov was there instead of his grandfather, and he blinked in surprise. Surely he hadn't been asleep that long, had he? But the window was dark when he looked over that way, grimacing at the stiffness and ache it took to turn his head even a tiny bit. "Yakov... how long have I been out?" At least the pain wasn't as sharp as it had been. Still annoying and achey all up his right side, but not awful.

  
"Yuri!" He started up out of a light doze, jerking forward to take his hand. Yuri let him. He could use a little bit of comfort right now, even if he wouldn't ask for it. "It's been about six hours since you spoke with Nikolai. Lilia finally took him for some dinner."

  
"Oh... that's good." he said vaguely. "Wait, that's not what I meant."

  
"I know," he said heavily. "It's been almost exactly a month, Yuri."

  
"A... a month?" he said, feeling like his stomach had just been dropped off a cliff. "But... but the Championships... Without a showing there, I can't qualify for Worlds. Yakov, the Olympics are a year and a half away, I..."

  
"Yuri..." he said, and the careful gentleness in his voice was terrible to hear. Yakov was gruff the way Yuri was angry. The fact that he was trying to be nice made it work. "Yuri, you were very badly hurt. You won't be on the ice in time for Worlds."

  
"WHAT?" he shrieked, and he hated how weak his voice sounded.

  
"Please, stay calm Yur-"

  
"No! No I am not going to stay calm!" he snapped. "I have to get back on the ice! This isn't good enough, you have to find better doctors!"

  
"There ARE none." As usual, Lilia Baranovskaya's icy sharp tones cut through his ranting, and his eyes flicked to the door. "You have already been tended by them. The foremost specialist on skin grafting in the world was flown in from Sweeden to consult on your case." She strode in, as stately and elegant and powerful as always, followed by the slouching, familiar, incredibly comforting form of his grandfather.

  
"It's true, _kotyonok_ ," his grandfather said, looking like he was holding back tears. "The doctors told us you had third and fourth degree burns to much of the right side of your body. They said..."

  
"That you have recovered to this point is a testament to your physical health and fighting spirit," Lilia overrode him. "And it will continue to serve you as you recover further. I will not tolerate one of my pupils succumbing to pointless anger. Your strength will be needed for much more important things than ranting uselessly."

  
He responded to her sharp tongue in a way that gentle words and softness never got to him. It cut through the rage and panic that was starting to rise in him, and he took a deep breath. "Alright. How bad is it?" he asked, his eyebrows drawing down in a glare when nobody spoke up. "I need to know!" he barked.

  
"There was some muscle and tendon damage to your right arm and back," Yakov said after another moment. "And burns from your thigh up to your head. You've had some donor skin grafts, and the doctors think that because you are so young, you will be able to regrow... much of it."

  
"Much of it..." Yuri echoed, his hands coming up. His right hand didn't want to move properly, it was so stiff all along his shoulder and the back of his arm. He brought his left hand up, feeling tears prick at his eyes when he felt his hair cropped almost to a stubble; what wasn't hidden under gauzy bandages anyway. Stupid. Stupid to care about losing his hair when... His mind skittered to a halt, refusing to go farther. "You... you cut my hair..." he whispered.

  
Lilia rolled her eyes, but his grandfather came forward, a gentle hand brushing his cheek. "It's alright, Yuri. You're still beautiful."

  
"No I'm not!" he shrieked, his good hand now frantically exploring over his body. He couldn't reach ( _couldn't reach? He could reach any part of himself he wanted what the hell?_ ) his back, he couldn't seem to twist around. The parts he could feel horrified him, though. There was so much bandaging, it seemed like it covered half his body. And myriad fresh scratches, which he realized were self-inflicted when he'd woken up the first time trying to scratch the morphine out of his body. It seemed like every part of him was either scratched bloody or burnt off. "I'm hideous! And I can't move!"

  
Yuri!" Lilia snapped again, but it didn't cut through as well as it normally did. He looked over at her, and her lips thinned even more than usual as she saw his panic. "Yuri, you will be fine. This is a first step. You are young and healthy, and you will not be in this bed forever."

  
"But I'll never skate again."

  
"Of course you will!" Yakov said gruffly.

  
"I'll never dance," Yuri said more quietly, and none of them had the heart to lie. He knew he'd never get the flexibility back for his spins. Never have the range of motion to throw himself into a jump. "I think... I think I'd like to sleep now," he said, and since he couldn't turn away from them, he just closed his eyes and willed them to leave.


	2. Chapter 2

Gods, what a nightmare that had been. What an outlandish thing to dream about, that he'd been hurt in some kind of explosion...

 

The thought lasted for maybe a second or two before it burst like a soap bubble. Yuri's eyes flew open, and he was still in the hospital bed, right arm still bandaged from the elbow up. He could see what must have been lesser burn scars all across the back of his hand, making the fingers stiff to move, although not as bad as moving the arm itself.  
Maybe most of that stiffness and resistance to movement was because of all the bandages, he told himself. Yeah, that made sense. Once he grew back enough skin to get rid of them, he'd be able to practice and build up his strength and flexibility again.

 

"Oh good, you're awake," a nurse said, coming in with a little cart. "I'm here to change your bandages. And you get to have some juice when I'm done, " she said while she checked the saline drip. "You're on a liquids only diet while your digestive system learns how to run properly again... and of course, you get your catheter out today if you feel up to it."

 

"What." His hand was under the blankets immediately. "Get it out. Now. What. Why is this even a thing?"

 

"You WERE in a coma for nearly a month," she pointed out gently. "Alright, that first, then."

 

-

 

Well, Yuri thought to himself nearly an hour later, so exhausted he couldn't even lift his head. That was the most unpleasant thing I've ever dealt with. On balance, though... he'd rather deal with the bandage change. Much less horribly embarrassing. Which was good, he reflected ruefully, since he was going to need a lot more of them.  
He was actually glad most of the injuries were to parts of his body he couldn't really see, especially without being able to turn his head much. The parts of his arm he could look at were enough to make him dry-heave, and he was sure he would have actually thrown up had there been anything in his stomach.

 

... She'd been really nice about it. Really gentle, very straightforward language, and she didn't try and pretend things were better than they were. She'd said he was healing better than most burn patients she'd seen, but also pointed out that she rarely saw 16 year old athletes either. In fact, she'd said things were progressing well enough that she'd put on much less bulky bandages this time, which at least did feel less... restrictive.

 

Despite how careful she was with him, and the fact that he knew there were still painkilling drugs in his IV drip, by the time she helped him roll back over onto his back and inclined the bed again, he was trembling from pain and exhaustion. She'd left a cup of watered-down cranberry juice on the little fold-out table, and told him to take his time, and only drink as much of it as he wanted. The IV drip was still feeding him nutrients, apparently.

 

If the clock on the wall was right, it took about twenty minutes before he finally was able to reach for the cup. He'd been grumpy about the watered part at first, but the first sip tasted so incredibly potent that he privately admitted it was probably a good idea. Years of intense physical training had taught him to take it slowly when rehydrating... although to be fair, the drip meant he wasn't exactly dehydrated. Still, jumpstarting his stomach had to be about the same thing, right?

 

So he sipped slowly, and was only done about half the cup when his grandfather came back in. "Yuri! You are looking much more yourself today! Lighter bandages too?" He leaned in to kiss his forehead, and Yuri actually had the energy to scowl playfully at him over the show of affection.

 

"Yeah, I guess," he said. "Listen... how long have you guys been here waiting for me to wake up, anyway?" Surely they hadn't been watching him like a hawk for a whole month.  
"We weren't allowed to visit until a week ago," Nikolai said, shaking his head as he set down an armful of cards and a plush cat on the table. "No outside visitors allowed in the burn units. Too much risk of infection. "But one of us has been here fairly regularly since they started to bring you out of the coma."

 

"Oh. Well, that's not quite so embarassing then," he grumbled. "So... what have I missed, then, if it's been a month?"

 

His grandfather carefully avoided too much detail about the figure skating standings... and really, Yuri didn't feel like pressing him. It was better to hear about silly things, about celebrity gossip, and what had been going on in the news.

 

"You've been getting quite a bit of mail," his grandfather said, gesturing to the pile of cards. "You're not allowed any flowers yet... infection risk again, but the nurses said I could bring this much into you."

 

"Just the one cat?" he observed. He didn't care about the flowers, they took too much effort to keep nice. But the lack of plushies was odd.

 

"You've actually gotten enough toy cats to fill three hospital rooms. We... we actually sent most of them to the childrens' department two floors down, but we'll keep bringing you in the best of them, if you like."

 

"Yeah. Sure." That was good. Really, what was one person going to do with so many stuffed cats, anyway? "Help me open some of these?" he asked, after fumbling open the first envelope proved a distressingly draining task.

 

They spent a pleasant enough hour or so going over well-wishes from people all over the world. Some were names he recognized from his official fan club, most were from people he'd never heard of, but they all professed admiration of him. The dozen or so from his skating contemporaries were the most personal of course. He was surprised to see JJ's name on a card. Not at all to see ones from Phichit, Yuuri, Victor, and Otabek. Most of those promised visits as soon as they had time and he was awake enough for them.

 

He jerked awake to realize he'd fallen asleep trying to read Yuuri's card, which was written mostly in English with a smattering of Russian words he must have picked up from Victor. His grandfather bundled them off his lap and onto the table, insisting that Yuri get some rest. He was too tired to protest.

 

-

 

It was dark again and he was alone when he woke up. Someone must have finally insisted on enforcing the visiting hours now that he was conscious, the clock showed it was after midnight, but too early to be classed as morning, even by someone used to being in the dance studio by 5. He lay there for a while in the dark, not exactly trying to get back to sleep, just drifting. It occurred to him that Phichit's card had said something about being eager to beat him in competition again soon... and the others had all had a scrupulous lack of anything referring to skating

 

He thought about it in a sleepy, lazy sort of manner, eventually realizing that Phichit, obnoxiously friendly, caring, sweet-natured Phichit, had probably sent his card the moment he'd seen about the bomb on the news. And the others had probably been told he'd never be able to compete again before they'd gotten a chance to write.  
So they weren't even expecting him to get back on the ice.

 

He wasn't sure which hurt worse. That they assumed he'd never be able to?

 

Or the naive thought that he would?


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, no. He WAS going to skate again. He was. He was already used to putting in hours of training around his school tutoring, he'd just turn all that energy towards physio, and he WOULD see results.

They already had him doing some things. They said they'd even been moving him while he'd been in a coma, to keep him from stiffening up beyond repair. He'd heard of the dreaded frozen joint syndrome, but never thought he'd be at actual risk for it. Standing up to go to the actual bathroom instead of just using one of those bottles had been... instructive. It felt like his joints were full of gritty sand, stiff and immobile. And by the time he'd crawled, trembling back into bed with his grandfather's help, he'd been as winded as if he'd run five kilometers straight.

But his hips had been moving better by the time he laid back.

The nurses cautioned him not to work too hard, and he didn't really listen. He DID listen when Yakov rapped him on the uninjured side of his skull and told him a reinjury now would extend his healing time, possibly indefinitely.

So, he did the annoyingly slow movements, trying not to think about how effortlessly he'd been able to do the splits, or do handstands, or kick above his head while balancing on a knifeblade. It didn't matter. He'd get there again. He just had to work hard enough.

He actually made a few days running of physiotherapy, sleeping, watching tv, sleeping, more physio, and yet more sleeping. More bandages came off, exposing mottled, scarred skin on his arm that made him shudder to look at. One day, someone who wasn't his grandfather, coaches, or nurses walked in his room, and his eyes narrowed to see his tutor there. "Yuri. It's such a relief to see you awake. How are you doing?"

"Busy," he said, arm trembling as he raised it up through the motion he'd been shown. They'd given him a small, light stick to hold, he wasn't even allowed a half-pound weight yet.

"Well... it's good to see you're keeping active," she said, smiling. "Now Yuri, you must know you've gotten very behind."

"Yeah. I noticed. I have a lot to do if I'm going to make it into the Olympic runnings." he said, frowning in concentration. His arm kept wanting to wander too far in as he raised it.

"I actually was talking about school, Yuri. You were already running several months behind in your studies because of your training ramping up for the Championships, and we agreed you'd make it up over the spring semester, when you could take time leading up to Europe."

"So, leave the homework, and I'll read over it." he said with a grunt of effort.

She walked over in front of him, so he couldn't keep pretending she wasn't there. "Yuri, you have to start thinking about your future. You're never going to skate competetively again, you're going to NEED to graduate on time if you're going to make it into university or a trade."

He swore, and swore worse when the little dowel he'd been holding missed her completely. His aim was terrible, she was only five feet away. "How DARE you! I'm not giving this up! I'm the best skater in the world, and I'm only 16 and you should be helping me succeed! Not telling me I can't!"

She didn't even get upset, just bent down to pick up his dowel, and somehow that made it so much worse. She was saying something as she set it down, and smiled at him in that patronizing, understanding way, but Yuri couldn't hear it over the pounding in his head. It wasn't until she was gone that he realized he was crying, and that made him pissed, and that made him cry harder.

Someone came by, dressed in hospital greens, and he couldn't really hear anything from them, either. Eventually, his grandfather arrived, folding him into a hug despite his feeble protests; and Yuri collapsed against him, a shuddering mess. He felt him talking first, low, gravelly rumbles in the chest he was leaning on, and then he slowly started to hear it. Mostly it was just snippets of old lullabys, nonsense reassuring words, but it did give him something to cling to.

"I'll show her," Yuri said in a low voice. "I'm not done yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, full disclosure here. This is a bit more autobiographical than the usual things I write, hence the lack of fanciful sex with impossibly pretty characters. It's my way of trying to get over all the bull that's happened to me since I was injured at work, two years ago today.
> 
> Pretty much every chapter is going to be centered around at least one event/thought/experience that happened to me. Obviously, I'm not a 16 year old figure skater from Russia, and my injury wasn't nearly so violent. But yeah. Non-traditional therapy ftw?


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm so bored!" Yuri groaned. There had been times when he'd fantasized about having long stretches of time to himself with nothing to do. Of course, during those fantasies, he'd been able to travel. Run around. Skate for the fun of it. Maybe take up rock climbing.

  
Turns out, he didn't have any hobbies. Yuri had been skating as long as he could remember. It had been his first hobby, his first real joy, unless you counted his fasicnation with cats. He'd started competing before most children were reading fluently in their own language. It literally had been his life. So now he was bored.

  
Physical therapy occupied some time, but in an annoying sort of way. It wasn't long or interesting enough to be more than an interruption. He didn't have the manual dexterity to pick up video games in any sort of useful way. You really needed both hands working right for that. You can only see so much TV before you start hating it... even if Yakov managed to bring in some DVDs from America for him, for variety.

  
Schoolwork was maddening. He hated it. Resented the way his tutor kept insisting it was important. And because he hated it, it was hard to concentrate on... and it didn't help that his writing looked like a child's. At her urging, he'd tried using his left hand. Sure, it was easier to hold the pencil, to apply the pressure, but the letters just didn't form properly. And his partially-numb, tight-scarred, malfunctioning-tendoned right hand kept losing grip, or twitching unexpectedly.

  
So, between the painful, hated schoolwork, and the painful, frustrating physio, he was, as he had just stated, really bored.

  
"If you'd like some company... I think Otabek Altin has some free time in the next few days," Yakov said.

  
"Yeah, because he'll fly all the way to Russia just to visit," Yuri said dryly.

  
Yakov looked a little uncomfortable. "Actually... he's opted to do his training in Moscow for the next few weeks." At Yuri's incredulous, disbelieving stare, he continued. "Very well. I asked his coach to consider relocating. Otabek was eager to second the suggestion. He has been worried about you."

  
He opened his mouth to try and reply. Couldn't seem to get any words to form. Wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

  
"I've had calls from Victor as well," he said, now with a bit of a sly grin. "But I thought that Otabek might be a better first guest, hmm?"

  
Yuri actually managed a rough sort of a laugh. "Hah. You've got some good ideas after all, old man."

  
-

  
He was surprisingly nervous. Yakov had suggested that maybe Yuri would like to reach out to Otabek himself. Mostly, he'd been ignoring his phone. All his snapchat feeds and news filters were set up for figure skating, and he'd been unable to bear looking through it. The outpouring of get well soon tweets were more depressing than inspiring, and even cute cats on Instagram got dull eventually.

  
So, here he was, picking it up for... maybe the second time this week? At least it held a charge great when he never turned it on. He resolutely ignored all the alerts his phone kept frantically trying to tell him were there, and tapped on Otabek's contact button.

  
 _Hey._ It didn't take too much longer to text with just the one thumb, and that was actually pretty cool.

  
It took about a minute for a response, and Yuri felt the knots in his stomach unclench with relief when he saw Otabek was responding. _Yuri. Good to hear from you._

  
_Yeah. So, Yakov tells me you're in Russia, eh?_

  
_Yes. I liked this rink when I was younger. The same apartment is still for rent, even._

  
_He was so glad Otabek was fluent in Russian. He didn't feel like trying to do this in English or his awful, awful German. He still couldn't do more than swear in it, no matter how hard his tutor tried. German was MADE for swearing. You should come over here and visit my lazy ass._

  
_I'd like that. When can I visit?_

  
_Shit. I think visiting hours are stupid here. Just make sure Yakov knows you're coming and he'll get you in._

  
_OK. I can come tomorrow. Want me to bring something for lunch?_

  
_OMFG YES_

  
_Tired of hospital food, then?_

  
_And I get the good version. Get me anything. Spicy maybe, foreign._

  
_You got it. I will see you for lunch tomorrow. Heh, just like Otabek. Reliable, double checks the schedule. And calm. Kind of opposite of him._

  
_You'd better. I'm going out of my mind here._

  
_Hang in there._

  
He suspected he'd caught Otabek on the ice, or in the gym, becuase that's what he'd be doing this time of year. He was grateful he hadn't brought it up. The thought of his friend skating was...

  
Determinedly, Yuri forced his mind away from that, called up a silly mindless video of somebody trying to bathe their cat. It distracted him enough to pull out one of his textbooks, a history one, and that let him change tracks enough to ignore the feeling of loss that had threatened to sweep over him.

  
-

  
He wasn't sure exactly what he was feeling when there was a polite tap on the door and suddenly Otabek was standing there, ramrod straight to one side of the door frame. He was wearing casual clothes, which Yuri was glad for, and also annoyed by. Did Otabek think he was too weak to deal with him in sportswear?

  
He was. But he resented that Otabek knew he was weak.

  
And then he took a step into the room, and Yuri caught a whiff of garlic and peanut and spice and everything except hunger fled from his mind. "You'd better bring that over here RIGHT NOW," he said, swallowing to keep from actually drooling.

  
Otabek gave a faint smile, one of the ones that actually barely moved his mouth at all but did crinkle up his eyes a bit, and just like that, everything was easy. They shared the BEST Thai curry Yuri had ever eaten, and Otabek's inability to use chopsticks at all meant that Yuri had an excuse to use a fork rather than fight with his wrong hand to use the damn sticks. It's not like they were starving him, but the food here was all pretty bland, so it would be acceptable to almost anyone. Even his grandpa's pirozhki needed some varity once in a while.

  
"So, what's it been like in Kazakhstan?" Yuri asked, stabbing just one more delicious shrimp.

  
"Pretty good, really," he said. "I'm here to visit you partially, of course. But I'm also here purely because I can be."

  
"Oh yeah?"

  
"They ended the draft this year," Otabek said with a sigh. "I can actually retire before I destroy my knees, and not have to go into the army. So to celebrate, I decided I'd go live in another country for a while, just because I could."

  
"I keep forgetting you're old enough for that to be a thing," he said. "You'd be a good soldier, though."

  
"I might sign up later on anyway," he said, shrugging. "It's not as if we're fighting any wars right now, and I'm good enough in math and physics to fast track into engineering. Not a bad career option, really."

  
"Pfft, for you, sure," Yuri said, waving a hand. "Me, I'm not so good with taking orders. Or blending into a group."

  
That actually earned him a real smile. "No, Yuri. No you are not."

  
-

  
It wasn't until after Otabek had left that the implications of that conversation really played through in his head. Skating had been so much of his life that Yuri had literally never considered what life would be like without it. As a world-class athlete, he was exempt from conscription. He'd fully expected to skate until he was almost 30, as Victor seemed set on doing, at which point he'd be old enough and rich enough to retire and live in peace.

  
He'd never bothered to take the higher-level classes. Why would he? He could graduate with his acceptable grades, it's not as if he was planning on university, what would he even study? He was rubbish at the maths. Indifferent at language skills. No real interest in science. Too impatient for law.

  
Maybe he'd be hurt enough to avoid conscription. If you were missing a leg, or had cancer or something, you were exempt. But... But what if he wasn't? What if he was just hurt enough to be... normal?

  
It was every man's civic duty to serve in the army, and everyone's duty to get a job of some sort, to enrich society. Very few could get away with not doing so and still retain any respect... and until very recently, he'd been one of those elite few. Being a skater was hard work, and brought a great deal of glory to Russia, it was seen as another way of defending the fatherland. But if he could no longer serve on the ice...

  
The disdain. He felt plenty of it himself, for the people who were too cowardly, too weak to serve Russia. Everyone did. Sure, tens of thousands of young men tried to dodge in some way, but even if they weren't caught and punished, it was frowned upon, strongly. You weren't a man until you'd served.

  
And now he'd lost his out.

  
Shit.

  
He was even more screwed than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended up doing a lot more research than I expected here. The whole conscription sub-plot fits certain feelings of mine well, though, so yay?


End file.
